sample sunday. the real deal.

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It’s almost that time again.

My next release, The Real Deal, will be coming sometime next month! 🙂

The earlier the better, but ya’ll know how these characters work, right? lol

For now, here’s a little sample to warm you up.

Meet Reagan. 

(sample unedited and subject to change.)


“Coming to the stage. Our hometown favorite. Give it up for G. Griffey!”

What a stupid ass name…

I never understood why rappers couldn’t just go by their mama-given names, instead choosing to come up with dumb shit like G. Griffey.

Ugh.

The bass hit me dead in my chest, forcing me to put a hand over it. I still didn’t understand why Leilani was so pressed to get close to the stage as if either one of our washed-up asses knew who these young dudes were. I mean, you could tell they were young by the demographics of the crowd that surrounded us, most of ‘em being college kids. And since both of us were a solid three years removed, I knew we had no business being there, let alone being at the front of the stage.

“When I say G, ya’ll say Griffey. G…”

“Griffey!”

“G…”

“Griffey!

I looked over to Leilani who was all chanting, hands in the air, eyes wide as she watched the performer on stage. I finally decided to take a peek myself and… damn.

G. Griffey had it goin’ on.

His skin was maybe a shade or two darker than mine, but still qualified him for the lite-brite category. His hazel-green eyes twinkled under the lights from the stage, so much so that I wondered if they were colored contacts. And his lips were perfectly full, curling as he spit his lyrics to the crowd’s enjoyment.

No wonder Leilani’s ass wanted to get so close.

I certainly couldn’t blame her now.

I mean, the way he commanded the stage was damn near hypnotizing. Before I knew it, I was singing along to the chorus that thankfully wasn’t about selling drugs, or shooting somebody though by this point I would’ve probably been singing along to that too.

G. Griffey did a few more tracks that everyone in the building seemed to know before he quote-unquote, “slowed it down for the ladies”, eliciting all types of screams and squeals. The bass was still heavy, but the tempo was slow as he rapped a song about a bunch of freaky shit I could hardly stand to listen to. Not because I was offended, but because I was painfully turned on as his raspy voice flowed about eatin’ it up and beatin’ it up and, “not trickin’ but treatin’ it up.”

Surely his raps weren’t all talk.

I mean, everything else he rapped about had sounded realistic, so why would these songs be any different?

And it wasn’t only his words that were hypnotizing, it was his mannerisms; the way he used his massive hands to emphasize the point of caressing a woman’s shape and licking his lips to emphasize how much he enjoyed devouring a woman from top to bottom.

Damn, this dude is a problem.

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